


Stolen Moments

by ObliObla



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hell, Light Angst, Post-Season/Series 04, Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: They often visit this beach.Theirbeach. The place where they first kissed—what seems like so long ago, now. Where Lucifer came to Los Angeles the first time; where Maze severed his wings. Where Chloe sat, so many nights when he was gone, staring up at the stars and down at their echoes on the surface of the sea, wondering if he’d ever come back.But he did.For the Lucifer Bingo prompt: Devil and the deep blue sea
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 30
Kudos: 232
Collections: LuciferBingo





	Stolen Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arlome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/gifts).

> Thanks to [redledgers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers) for the beta help, and to Nia for the title 🙂
> 
> For darling Arlome. May all your hard work pay off ❤️

They often visit this beach. _ Their _ beach. The place where they first kissed—what seems like so long ago, now. Where Lucifer came to Los Angeles the first time; where Maze severed his wings. Where Chloe sat, so many nights when he was gone, staring up at the stars and down at their echoes on the surface of the sea, wondering if he’d ever come back.

But he did, washed up on this very same beach, soaked through with freezing saltwater and somehow still covered in ash. He had peeled off his stinking leathers, dropping them to the sand, and there was something lost in his gaze when he finally saw her.

_ “Chloe…?” _

But that was years ago, enough that some of the gold in her hair turned to silver. He says it’s beautiful all the same, that he spun stars from many colors, back when he set the skies alight.

The sky is covered with clouds tonight, and she doesn’t have to look up to see the stars when their luster is waiting in his eyes. The breeze picks up, and she shivers, sliding closer to him, and he wraps his arms around her. They have lain in silence for a time, listening to the tide come in, but now she presses her lips to his throat and breathes steadily against his skin.

The ocean is stormy, wine-dark as a Greek epic, a more shadowed glass through which to see. But she doesn’t have to be afraid of the dark anymore.

“Will you tell me a story?” she asks, tucking her head under his chin, and she can feel his chuckle vibrate in his chest.

“What, like the offspring?” Though Trixie’s almost graduated, she does, still, occasionally request one.

Chloe pushes at Lucifer’s shoulder, and he falls back onto the blanket dramatically before righting them both. She giggles and straightens the lines of his vest while he brushes her hair from her face.

“I love your stories,” she tells him, an odd seriousness to her tone, suddenly, that she can’t quite shake. “And I know you love telling them.”

He smiles in a way that makes her feel like the only other person in the universe. As if _ they _ were god and goddess, resting on the edge of creation, looking out over their works.

“What would you like to hear?” His voice is a soft rumble that’s still distinct over the sound of the waves, and she’s abruptly no longer cold, heat pooling in her belly. But tonight isn’t about that. She has a question, and she’d like an answer, though she doesn’t want to push.

Chloe is happier than she’s maybe ever been, at least, where Lucifer is concerned, but she still feels like something’s missing. There’s some chasm of understanding between them that’s uncomfortably vast, and she wants nothing more than to cross it.

So she digs up that old Decker courage and asks, “Tell me about… Hell?”

He inhales sharply, and something ancient and fathomless flits over his face. She knows it’s clear from her tone that she doesn’t mean those little things he makes light of, but something darker, deep under the surface. She thinks he might pull away, but he and Linda have done great work, and he merely frowns.

“It’s not exactly pleasant,” he says, confusion in his gaze now. “Why would you want to hear about _ that?” _

“I know you have to go back,” she whispers. They don’t talk about this, not ever, but she’s certain that whatever solution he’s found is only temporary.

He grimaces. “Yes, but not until…”

A wave slides against the sand, and a lone seagull squawks, loud in the sudden quiet.

“I want to know you,” she says, breaking the discomfort the best she can. “All of you.”

“You do,” he says earnestly. “Every mote of light that forms me.”

When he talks like this, when all the humor and lightness fall away, she wonders how she ever thought him human.

She shakes her head. “Not this.”

He searches her gaze as he still does, sometimes, like this must be a lie, a trick, a joke made at his expense. And, though it makes her heart ache, she keeps her expression clear.

“If you want me to stop asking, I will,” she reassures, because she thinks he might need it, and takes his hand in hers. “But I _ promise, _ Lucifer, I won’t run away.”

He nods slowly, and some of the tension leaves his jaw. “Ask,” he says, like even that word costs him. But he’s not deflecting, not fleeing, and she supposes this is as open as he can manage. She wonders if he’s made this some kind of deal in his head, but she’s glad he’s willing to talk no matter how he needs to frame it.

She has hundreds of questions, thousands, maybe, but she’s considered carefully, and has decided the best method is to start with something fairly light. So she rests her cheek against his chest and looks up at him. “Where did you live?”

He blinks, then blinks again, like he’s not entirely certain he heard properly. “You…you want to know about my palace?”

She shrugs, pressing a little closer, chasing away the chill of the sea breeze. “To start with.”

He sighs, and his eyes go a little distant as he decides where to start. “The throne is at the highest point of Hell,” he says softly. “The top of a spire that grows down into the darkness. And into the stone, I built my palace.” He frowns slightly, and she waits, listening to a distant echo of thunder. They’ll have to go soon, but she doesn’t want to disturb this moment, isn’t sure if she’ll have the chance again.

“There is beauty in Hell,” he says abruptly. “It’s buried, _ hidden, _ but there is splendor and glory and even, sometimes, joy.” His gaze darts to her, and he looks somehow both anxious and defiant.

She meets his uncertainty with a smile. “Your ability to find that joy is one of the things I love about you.”

He strokes her palm with his thumb, and tells her, “It’s a great tower of obsidian, its jagged glass gleaming by the light of ever-burning sulfur fires. I’ve a smaller throne, for day-to-day use, of course. The throne room is austere, perhaps. But I always found there to be majesty in the luster of the pitch-black floors, in the grandness of the onyx columns, in the great, ebony doors that lead to the square. And the throne itself…”

He chuckles, and it’s a darker sound, now, than it was a few moments ago. “It’s a ghastly thing, really. I hewed it myself, from the rock I was chained to in the lake of fire. I was half-mad with the pain and the rage, and into it I carved all my torments.”

He breathes harshly, lost in memory, his fingers tightening around hers. He seems to have almost forgotten who he’s talking to when he speaks again, the words leaving his lips rapidly like they might choke him. “Flames, faces twisted in agony, curses against my Father, my Mother, my brethren… Creation itself.” He hisses, and a somewhat louder crack of thunder shoots through the air. “I made a king from the ashes of an angel.”

There’s such anguish in his voice she can’t help but reach for him, brush her fingertips against his jaw, and he comes back to himself. He stammers. “I-I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” she says with as much warmth as she can manage. She leans up and tries to kiss the worries from his face. His breathing steadies, and he presses his forehead against hers in a practiced gesture.

They settle back against each other, and Lucifer’s hand trails down Chloe’s side. “I can stop,” he whispers against her lips.

“No, it’s alright.” She presses a kiss over his heart. “I love you. You know that, right?”

His breath hitches. “I love you, too.” Even now, he doesn’t say it often, but the words are full of an aching truth that grips her heart and squeezes tight.

“It-it’s a sprawling thing,” he says awkwardly, clearly trying to get back into the rhythm of it. But he’s a born storyteller, and he finds his way quickly. “Hell is chaotic, and things twist and morph on their own, often enough. A few things I acquired from my travels on Earth are stored in rooms deep in the ground, kept from the corrosion and the heat. There’s a banquet hall, for feasts. The food”—he shrugs—“could be worse, and the liquor is _ godawful, _ but at least it’s plentiful.”

She nods, and he starts to relax again.

“There are rooms for everything, really. Saunas, heated by the lake, buried far beneath the surface. Sulfur baths—they smell terrible, but they’re excellent for the skin. Rooms for less _ pleasant _ activities.” He bites his lip; this is clearly territory he’s not ready to cover, and he changes topic. “Oh, and the bedroom, of course. A lot like the one in the penthouse, really, though with rather less natural light.”

As he continues to describe the various interworkings of the palace—of great tournaments and courtly intrigue and _ kingship_—she lets herself imagine it, this little fantasy she’s never dared voice. He wouldn’t allow it, and, besides, she’d never abandon Trixie. Chloe knows that when she dies, she’ll go to Heaven, and Lucifer will be forced back down to Hell.

But now she sees him on his infernal throne, in the armor she’d seen when he washed ashore, an iron goblet full of blood-red wine in his hand. And by his side, in hellish silks as crimson as his wine, or black as night, or pure white as his wings, she sees herself, stately and regal. And she wishes desperately that it could come true, that this could be some kind of happily ever after.

But this isn’t a Disney movie, however twisted. She’s not Persephone, flowers in her hair as her god of death draws her forward into a dance. She’s just Chloe Decker, ordinary human, and she won’t sacrifice the paradise of being reunited with her family for anyone, not even him. And she knows he’d never ask her to.

Sometimes, though, she wishes he would.

He trails off when he realizes she’s not listening anymore and blinks down at her. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” She shakes her head and brightens her smile. “Thank you for telling me,” she says, sincerely.

He inclines his head, watching her with an odd expression on his face. For a moment, she thinks that he might know what she’s been imagining. That he is maybe imagining it too.

_ “I love you,” _ he says again, and there’s an intensity to it there wasn’t before, like he really might give her his crown, his kingdom, even the universe itself if only she asked. He tightens his hold on her hip, and she grips at his vest, entranced by his gaze. She opens her mouth to say something, though she’s uncertain what words might fall from her tongue. A truth, a promise, a vow...

Then a crack of thunder echoes across the sky, and it starts to rain.

And Lucifer laughs.

It’s a wonderfully joyous sound, drawn from deep in his belly, and she finds herself joining him, almost hysterical. It’s raining so hard so suddenly her clothes are immediately wet, and she sits up. But before she can scramble to her feet, Lucifer pulls her into his arms and stands, turning to head back to the car.

“Wait!” Chloe cries breathlessly. “The blanket!”

“Damn the blanket,” he says roughly, but still leans down to pick it up, pulling the clean side over her head to shield her from the worst of the rain.

She rolls her eyes as he half-runs them back to her car. He sets her down, and she gets into the driver’s side as quickly as possible. When both doors slam shut, they look at each other and burst into laughter again. Chloe’s annoyingly damp, but Lucifer is positively _ soaked, _his hair plastered to his head, drops of water dripping from his nose. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. She thinks he’s going to wipe off the worst of the rain still on his face, try to preserve what’s left of his apparently not sufficiently waterproof makeup, but he leans over the central console.

“May I?” he asks quietly.

She doesn’t know why his tone is so solemn again, but hers is too when she replies, _ “Yes,” _ and wonders what it is she’s really agreeing to.

They don’t talk as he carefully dries her skin, tucking her hair behind her ears. There is something almost painfully affecting about the concentration on his face, the tenderness of his motions. When he’s finished he drops the pocket square and holds her head in his hands.

“Chloe,” he whispers, brushing his thumb over her lip.

“Lucifer,” she breathes. She doesn’t know what else to say.

“If-if—” He seems to be having trouble finding the words, but she waits for him. She knows too well to believe she can _ always _ wait for him, but she’ll wait as long as she is able.

He takes a deep breath and waves a hand vaguely. “If this is all we have, if _ now _ is all we have, I…” He reaches for her hand, and she meets him. “It’s worth it,” he says in a rush.

She bites her lip. “But how can you _ know?” _

He shakes his head, and water flecks against her cheeks from his hair. “I can’t, but… I have to have faith.”

She chuckles bitterly. _ “You _ have faith? In what, the universe?”

“In _ you_,” he says, with the earnestness of before. And maybe nothing’s perfect. Maybe they’re still blundering into this relationship business, even after all these years. Maybe he gets on her nerves, and she confounds him, and sometimes they both just want to _ scream_. But as long as they talk to each other, it’ll be okay.

She brings her other hand up to cup his, and says, “I believe in you, too.”

And maybe that’s all that matters.


End file.
